Chapter 6: Wish I Had a Pencil-thin Mustache

"Wish I had a pencil-thin mustache,
The Boston Blackie kind."

Chapter 6

"Luther?  Luther?  Is that you?" asked Billy Ray of the chauffeur holding the sign with his name on it.

"None other, Mister William," answered the slightly elderly black man, flashing him a thousand-watt smile.  "Heard you were in town today, so I thought I'd dust off the Roller, put on these ol' duds and greet you in style.  You got any checked bags?"

"Look Luther, you were more dad to me than daddy was, so if you're going to try to carry my bag..."

"No suh!  I was going to dress you down for checking yo baggage.  Didn't I tell you to never, never do that?  You want some airline monkey throwin' it around, breakin' all the booze you packed, then send it out to Cuba just fo' giggles an' grins?  Now get yo lazy white ass outta here an' into the Roller."

Along the way out of the concourse, Luther and Billy Ray caught up, Luther filling him in on Luther's son and Billy Ray's brother-from-another-mother, Carl, and his growing law practice.  "Duh boy got into import-export contract law, and he's got too much work for him to handle.  He's got 5 secretaries, 3 associates, 10 paralegals and 6 translators, and he's still got enough left to buy hisself all the toys."

"And Mrs. Calvin?  How's her diabetes?"

"Keepin' it under control.  She done lost about 75 pounds since you saw her last.  She looks like one of those ladies what used to be models in they youth.  Now, what's this I hear about you selling the ol'Manse?  That won't sit well with everybody, no suh!"

"What am I going to do with it, Luther?  Live there?  I'm a 'Westie now.  That spooky old place holds few good memories, and I left it as soon as I can.  Never looked back.  You need to move on yourself.  I don't know why you and yours never left in the first place."

"well, you know, when my Grandpappy got the manumission, he took a walk to the county seat, walked to Hilton Head, walked back and said, "I guess I done seed what's out there. and if it's all the same to you, Mr. Calhoun, I'd purely love it if you could see yo' way to keep me an' the family around."

"And a good thing my great-Grandpappy said yes," countered Billy Ray, "because it was Lucius who got him to diversify, adding peanuts, sugar, corn and hogs.  That got us through the Depression, when cotton tanked.  Then your father convinced my Grandpappy to invest in chemicals and build the plant on the upcountry acreage, near the rail line.  That got us through the 50's.  And now you came up with the idea to put in the golf club and resort by the river.  And what did my daddy do for you?  Paid you to do it all, while he researched John C."

"Truth be told, Mr. William, your daddy was real good to me and the family.  We never paid a dime for our groceries ever; he got Carl that scholarship to law school; paid me the going rate plus bonuses, and always had us up to the big house fo' Christmas and Sesesh-Day.  He done treated us like family, and that's unusual for a gentleman of his breeding."

"Guess I'm just jealous, that's all," said Billy Ray, as Luther applied some good-natured noogies to Billy Ray's head.  They arrived at the beast of a Rolls Royce, Billy Ray threw his carry-on in the trunk and grabbed the shotgun seat.  Strip malls gave way to tract housing, which gave way to cotton fields, the bolls just beginning to burst.  A quick left at the golf club sign onto a one-lane blacktop, a small rise up the hill, and Journey's End, the home seat of generations of Calhouns, presented itself in all of her white painted, open porches and formal gardens.  

"There she is," said Luther, pride filling his voice.

"Yeah, there she is alright," said Billy Ray with a sigh.  He was not looking forward to any of this.  Although all the furniture and rugs had been sold to an antiques dealer in Charleston, there was  a box of personal papers and a box of personal effects that Luther and Milly, Luther's wife, had pulled together.

And then there was the matter of the key.

"Hey Luther, did my dad ever show you this?" Billy Ray asked, holding up the key.

"Hmm, not that I recall.  There are a few old fashioned doors that it might open, but besides that I don't know anything about it.  Where'd you get it?"

"Long story, long story.  Also, you might keep an eye peeled for any strangers that might also be interested in this key."

"Strangers, huh," snorted Luther, "we'll give 'em a proper Carolina welcome, the kind that we gave the Yankees out on Fort Wagner."

"Yeah, I think cannons might be a bit much, but all the same.  I think there's some secret stuff that daddy had that these strangers might want.  One already talked his way into my place, stole daddy's estate papers right in front of me, skedaddled and threw them out the window of the getaway car."

"Hmm, that do sound strange," said Luther thoughtfully.

All speculation was interrupted by their arrival and Milly "Mammy" Calvin's crushing embrace --whatever she had lost on her hips, waist and thighs, she kept on her formidable bosom --and with tears, kisses, more bone-crushing hugs, Billy Ray found himself in his father's old room, the only room that still had a bed in it, looking at a photograph of his father from the 50's: dark eyes, dark hair, pencil-thin mustache, looking for all the world like a matinee idol from a bygone era.  

"Well daddy, here I am.  I'm gonna sell your house, paw through your stuff, and drop most of it off at St. Vincent de Paul, just because you never did like Catholics.

The photograph just looked back at him.  Was that an ironic gleam in one eye?